Christmas Crossover Crisis!
by Karalora
Summary: On Christmas Eve, two worlds collide...


_A/N: Yes, this story involves world-hopping, and you'll notice I didn't bother with clunky labels explaining where any given scene takes place. I hope it's obvious enough from context._

* * *

Christmas Crossover Crisis!

_So then. Parallel universes._

_The best you'll get from actual scientists is that they might exist, but as we can't actually observe them, they might as well not. Which is interesting as far as it goes, but doesn't leave much room for discussion._

_Science-fiction writers, on the other hand, _love_ to play around with parallel universes, and come up with all kinds of causes for them. You've got the ones where every time something might happen two or more ways, it happens _all_ of them, each in its different universe, with timelines constantly branching all over the place. (They swiped that from the scientists.) And then you've got the ones which are inexplicably _just like_ this one, except that all the good people are evil and vice-versa._

_How would that even work? If you and your best friend had personalities completely the opposite of what they are, you probably wouldn't _be_ friends, would you? Plus, from the perspective of literary criticism, it's a really lazy way of creating a foil for your lead characters._

_More plausible is a parallel universe in which the same people exist, just...differently. Maybe not even looking much the same, since a person's appearance is affected by much more than genetics. What if, that being the case, you met yourself? Would you recognize each other?_

_Well, would you?_

_(As a matter of fact, you would. The __**soul**__ always knows itself.)_

* * *

He wasn't always Santa Claus, but as soon as the hat went on he would answer to no other name (not that there was usually anyone around to address him once he got going). It was his way of making sure everyone respected the office, that people didn't get the idea that they were somehow entitled to extra favors just because they knew him in his _other_ identity.

The preparations, by now, were almost automatic. Hitching up the reindeer, strapping in the bag, starting up the GPS with his pre-programmed route, activating the time manipulation circuits and the mass compensator. His itinerary changed slightly from year to year depending on world events and the popularity of Christmas in various nations, but the early stages were always the same. Sweden first, of course, followed by the rest of the Nordics, then a quick hop over the North Pole to the International Date Line, so that he could take advantage of time zones and stretch the night out as long as possible.

With the new afterburners, Santa figured he could cover the entire globe in about nine hours, but he preferred to take his time. Gift-delivery was his annual labor of love and cutting corners was not to be thought of.

"You'd better watch out..." he said. His tone was impish, but he enunciated clearly—all the hangar machinery was voice-activated. With a groaning of little-used gears, the big hatch doors in the roof cranked open, letting in a fall of snow. "You'd better not cry..." Santa continued. There was a deeper rumble of machinery starting up, and the sleigh vibrated on its platform. "Better not pout, I'm telling you why..." The hydraulic lift went smoothly into motion with only a tiny jolt, raising the sleigh up to rooftop level. It was cold—naturally—and heavily overcast, snow falling in a steady flutter. But that wasn't much of a concern; most of the night's flight would take place above the cloud layer.

He adjusted his flight goggles, got comfortable in his seat, and flicked on the NORAD transmitter that he had installed at America's insistence. The last line was delivered in a near-whisper. "Joulupukki is coming to town." With a light snap of the reins, the sleigh took off.

It gained speed and altitude quickly, riding the wind. Santa whooped with laughter. (An observer on the ground might have been surprised at how young he sounded.) In a matter of seconds, the sleigh burst through the clouds and into a world of starlight.

"Great job, ladies!" Santa said to the reindeer. "Now, south-by-southwest to Sweden's place! Tallyho-ho-ho!"

It seemed like no time at all before the GPS proclaimed that they were over the outskirts of Stockholm. (Really it was more like two minutes.) He couldn't see the ground through the clouds, but the radar indicated no obstacles. Santa began to take the sleigh down.

It was still moving at speed, which is why, when he reached a gap in the thunderheads and saw an immense, bright _thing_ looming straight ahead, there was no possible way to avoid crashing into it. There wasn't even any time to scream with fright before...

...nothing. Nothing at all happened. Reindeer, sleigh, and all sped right _through_ whatever it was without a hitch. There was a blinding light for an instant, and then they were past it, unharmed. Santa turned in his seat to stare, panting, at the mysterious phenomenon as it shrank into the distance behind him. It just looked like a luminescent patch in the sky. He could swear the sleigh had passed right through the middle of it; whatever it was, it wasn't solid. The GPS still indicated that he was in Stockholm airspace.

Santa was about to simply shrug and resume the journey, filing the oddity away for later, when the sleigh gave a lurch and its instruments began blaring alarms. The turbulence continued, increasing. It could mean only one thing.

The mass compensator was failing. The sleigh was about to lose its weightlessness.

"No, no, no, no!" Santa cried, punching buttons and thumping the console in desperation. The mass compensator had only ever broken down _once_ before, and the sleigh had been safely parked on someone's rooftop at the time and only required a basic systems reboot. For it to fail in flight..._oh god..._

The sleigh gave one last shudder and dropped like a stone, dragging driver, cargo, and the unfortunate reindeer with it. The animals bawled with fear.

With a sudden clarity of mind, Santa did the one thing he could do. He reached forward and unfastened the reindeer's tack from the traces. The beasts caught themselves in mid-fall and galloped away over the air, groaning and snorting as their normal instincts took over. The sleigh was still falling, but at least they would be safe. He flipped the seat forward, exposing the emergency crash space under the cargo hold, crawled in, and curled up, protecting his head and neck. Now all he could do was curse himself for never getting around to keeping a parachute on board, and hope for the best.

* * *

The NORAD tracker monitor beeped in a casual, when-you-just-have-a-moment sort of way, so America finished heroically sprinkling marshmallows into his cocoa and then ambled over to take a look.

**Target lost,** the message window informed him. **Re-attempt tracking? Yes/No**_._ Furrowing his brow, America clicked Yes. He sipped his cocoa.

_Beep. _**Target not found. Re-attempt tracking? Yes/No.** "Dude, what do you mean, not found? How did you lose him in the first place?" America asked the machine. He clicked Yes again. _Beep._ And again. _Beep_. And again_beep_andagain_beep_andagain_beep_andagain_beep_and— "_Dude!_"

America flung himself back on his sofa. This was _bad_. This was all kinds of bad. Without warning, NORAD had _lost track of Santa Claus_. There was no sign of him. It was as if he had just vanished into thin air. Which would, of course, be where he would vanish, because dude, flying sleigh.

"No way, dude!" America declared, rising to his feet in one smooth heroic motion. "Santa Claus missing on Christmas Eve? The _hero_ won't allow it! I'll put together a crack investigative team, solve the mystery, and save Christmas!" He indulged himself in a hearty heroic laugh. (Even trained professionals sometimes have trouble telling the difference between that and a villainous laugh.)

Then America sat back down to make some phone calls.

* * *

The snowfall was picking up, so Sweden also picked up his pace, pulling his coat closer around himself with one hand. The weather wasn't brutal by any means, but he was glad he didn't have to spend any more time out in it. He felt lucky—he'd noticed the lack of any apple brandy in his drinks cabinet just in time to make it to the local shop before it closed for the holiday. (At some point, though, he was going to have to round up the usual suspects to find out who drank the last bottle, because he'd been certain he had one.)

The streets were already deserted, but the scene was tranquil rather than eerie—the newly fallen snow glittering under all the lights, a warm glow in every residential window. From time to time, Sweden would hear snatches of laughter and music—party sounds—from inside the buildings. The whole city was celebrating, but not all out in the open. It was the best of both worlds—festive without being raucous, quiet without being dull.

His path took him alongside one of the minor arms of Riddarfjärden. Sweden paused for just a moment to gaze at the water. Close to him, it looked severely black under the clouded-over sky, especially in contrast with the shelf ice forming along the shore. Farther out, though, the rippling surface caught the reflections of lights on the opposite side, producing a shimmering melange of color. Beautiful.

Sweden was not normally given to fits of sentimentality, but he did truly love Christmas.

He turned to continue homeward, and for the first time noticed another person coming toward him, shuffling slowly from one lamppost to the next as if moving required great effort. His first assumption was that they were elderly, and he wondered why a senior citizen with impaired mobility would be out alone on Christmas Eve. But as he got closer, he saw that the stranger was in fact quite young. The hair that had looked white from a distance proved to be platinum blond, and his difficulty in walking was because he was, bluntly, freezing. His clothes—an old-fashioned Santa Claus suit, minus the hat—were so thoroughly drenched that Sweden thought he must have fallen into the bay. He staggered along, tightly hugging his own chest, head tucked, eyes half-lidded, muttering under his breath.

"Excuse me. Do you need some help?" said Sweden.

The young man looked up with a glazed expression. It was hard to tell under the sharp artificial light of the streetlamps, but he looked extremely pale, with a blue tinge to his lips and the tips of his ears and nose. He tried to speak, but almost immediately trailed off into a moan and half-collapsed into a crouching position, shivering violently.

Well, crap. Sweden had to get home and finish setting up for the party. Everyone in his main social circle was coming over. He envisioned his exquisitely laid dinner table, with its formal place settings and pre-printed name cards perfectly arranged for maximum harmony, and tried to fit in the addition of some weirdo he just barely met who apparently went swimming fully clothed in Riddarfjärden in the winter. It didn't _work_. He might as well put up the hood on his car and start reconnecting wires at random.

But on the other hand...when _was_ the right time to help a stranger in distress, if not Christmas? Sweden sighed, tucked his shopping bag into his coat pocket, and stooped next to the young man, placing a hand on his shoulder. A film of ice crackled in the cloth. "Come on. I'll take you to my place and get you warmed up. It's not far. We'll figure things out from there."

At first, it seemed like his words hadn't gotten through. But then, with a jerking motion, the fellow unwrapped one arm from his torso and grasped Sweden's coat fiercely. "Th-thank you," he murmured.

Sweden revised his estimate of the man's age...downward. He was _quite_ young. Maybe not even a legal adult. No matter. That was one of the many things to be sorted out once he was no longer on the verge of passing out from the chill. Sweden helped him get upright and supported him as they began walking, heading for home.

* * *

Thirty-two cloven hooves landing on a snow-covered rooftop make a particular sound that unfortunately doesn't translate well into text. Sweden heard that very sound and looked up from his book with a small smile. (Well, almost a smile. His face didn't actually change from its standard Scowl o' Doom, but he was smiling on the inside, like the opposite of a party clown who really hates their job.)

He was about to get back to his book when he noticed another sound—or rather, the absence of a sound that should have been there. The hoof noise hadn't been followed by the gentle, crunching bump of a sleigh touching down. That was...odd, to say the least. His frown deepening, Sweden got his coat and went outside to investigate.

A moment later, he stood in his front yard, craning his neck to stare up at the eight animals blowing and stamping on his roof. They were harnessed together in two columns, but the other end of the harness wasn't attached to anything. There was no sleigh.

"..." Sweden said, bewildered. Was this some sort of weird prank? If so, then who was responsible and what were they getting at? He didn't want to think about the dreadful obvious...

He was still standing there, wondering what to do, when music sounded from his pocket. He pulled his phone out and blinked at it until he recognized the tune as "Scarborough Faire." England was on the other end.

He answered almost on autopilot. "_Ja?_"

"Good, you're still up," came England's reedy voice. "Listen, there—" He broke away from the phone for a moment to shout at someone else. "I'm telling him _right now_, you git! Sorry about that, chap. As I was saying, something's up. America's fit to be tied because NORAD lost track of Father Christmas over Stockholm. Do you know anything about it?"

Sweden looked again at the reindeer on his roof, his brow furrowing with worry. (Well, not exactly. Once again, his face didn't change. But he was fretting on the inside.)

"Maybe a little," he said.

"Dude, gimme the phone!" he heard, followed by a brief scuffle. "Sweden, you still there?" said America while England continued to protest in the background. "We need any and all information you might have pertaining to the disappearance. Keep a runway clear, because I'm—"

Sweden hung up. There didn't seem to be much point in listening to the younger nation prattle on. All the phone call had done was confirm what he already suspected—Finland was in trouble. He and the sleigh were both missing, and by some stroke of luck the reindeer had continued the route, making their way to his house by...ingrained instinct, probably.

America meant well (It was the one thing everyone who knew him agreed upon—_he meant well_), but when a Nordic was in trouble, the other Nordics would handle it. It was what they did. They stuck together.

He prepared to send a group text message.

* * *

"Almost there," Sweden said, as much for his own benefit as for that of his silent, shivering companion. "Just a few more houses."

To his mild chagrin, Åland was at the house, pacing briskly back and forth along the porch. "I didn't bring my key," he said as Sweden approached. "I assumed you'd be here. Who's that?"

"Sorry," said Sweden. "I had to step out to pick up some apple brandy. Where are the other two? I thought you'd come over together."

Åland's reply dripped with sarcasm. "My _dear_ cousin and your sister were 'busy' when I left. For the sake of my sanity, I didn't bother to wait for them. But you didn't actually answer my question. _Who_ is _that_?"

Sweden gave him a level look. "Someone suffering from at least Stage One hypothermia. Will you help me get him inside? Keys are in my left coat pocket."

"Whatever you say, sweetie," said Åland. "But you really should get the guy's name before you bring him home, no matter how cute he is."

Sweden was about to retort, when the stranger suddenly spoke up. "Tino."

"Hm?"

"C-call me...Tino." His accent was strange; Sweden couldn't quite place it. Maybe the hypothermia was slurring his speech. If so, it wouldn't be for much longer. Åland opened the door, and the two of them moved through the steps of a routine familiar to preparedness-minded people living in a climate such as theirs.

They helped Tino strip down to his underwear and bundled him up on the sofa with several hot water bottles and an electric blanket. Åland took the wet Santa suit down to the basement and hung it up by the furnace. When he returned, he sat down to monitor the boy's condition while Sweden went into the kitchen to make a pot of tea and check on dinner while he was at it.

Fortunately, the culinary tasks were second nature, because his mind was racing. Mostly, he was wondering how the rest of his guests were going to take it when they arrived and found a nearly-nude stranger sitting on the sofa. His sister and Denmark would almost certainly be fine with it, since both of them tended toward a "the more, the merrier" philosophy, and even the nearly-nude part would trouble them only because of the _nearly_. The others, though... Norway wouldn't say anything, but it would bother him the entire evening to have an outsider present at Christmas dinner. Iceland...well, Iceland could go either way. (Who knew what the hell he was thinking half the time anyway? He could outright _tell_ you what he was thinking, and you'd still be no better off.) And Finland...ye gods. Finland would probably herd the poor kid into a corner and hold him at knifepoint until the SysAdmin in charge of his brain remembered the right password to reset him to "neutral."

But all that was a bridge they would have to cross when they came to it. The tea was ready. Sweden poured out a mug and added a cinnamon stick and, after a bit of thought, a splash of the apple brandy. When he brought it into the living room, he was gratified to see that Tino's color was measurably better and his eyes had lost their glazed appearance. He hadn't spoken since giving his name, but he looked content enough.

Åland, on the other hand, had his hackles up. He wasn't letting it show on the outside, but Sweden knew his boyfriend well enough to tell that he was strung tighter than a violin, keeping a steady gaze on the boy like a wolf guarding the den.

"This should fix you up the rest of the way," Sweden said, handing the tea to Tino. His hands were still trembling a little, but just holding the warm ceramic put a stop to it. "Careful. Don't drink it too fast; it's hot and it's got some kick."

"Thank you very much," said Tino. There was that weird accent again. Sweden almost thought it sounded fake, put-on, but he couldn't imagine why someone would do that.

"Sweetie? Kitchen?" said Åland.

"Er...we'll be right back," said Sweden. "Enjoy your tea."

Sweden more-or-less allowed Åland to drag him into the kitchen, to a spot where they wouldn't be visible to Tino. "Where did you _find_ this guy?" Åland demanded in a near-whisper.

"Just out near the water," said Sweden. "Why?"

"You don't think he's, I don't know, weird?"

"Maybe a little to be out alone on a holiday. I assumed he was on his way to a Christmas costume party."

"Yeah, about that...I took a good look at his suit while I was hanging it up. It's way too fancy for a normal party. Velvet, _real_ fur...it must have cost hundreds of Euros. What kind of weirdo goes out alone in a get-up like that, with no money or identification or anything, and then falls into the lake?"

"So he's a weirdo. So what? It's not like he'll be here long." He paused and leaned over to peek out of the kitchen. Tino appeared lost in thought, staring into space while sipping his tea. Between the warmth and the hit of alcohol, his cheeks were getting nice and pink. "He looks about recovered, so as soon as his suit is dry, we'll give it back to him and send him on his way."

"It's more than that. He's just...I can't put my finger on it. This is going to sound weird, but...I feel like I should already know him. But not _him_, exactly. It's more that I keep expecting to see someone I recognize sitting on that sofa."

"You're right. That sounded weird." Before Sweden could continue, the kitchen timer went off. "Excuse me a moment, sweetie." He basted one dish, added seasoning to another and moved it to the warming compartment, and re-set the timer. "As I was saying, I think you're being paranoid. He's just a kid. Kids do stupid things sometimes."

"Yeah, you're probably right..." said Åland. "How do you think the guys will take it when they get here?"

"I'm...still working on that," said Sweden. "They're not due for a while yet, so with any luck, we can get him out of here before then."

"I'll go check his clothes," said Åland. He hastily moved off.

Sweden stirred something in a pot before returning to the living room. Tino was fully alert by this point, though he seemed distant, staring into the dregs of his tea with a contemplative expression.

"Is everything all right?" asked Sweden.

"Hm? Oh, yes. I just finished my tea and couldn't find anywhere to set the cup. I can't exactly get up like this."

"Here, I'll take that. You know, I probably have a spare bathrobe you could wear if your clothes aren't dry yet."

"I'd hate to impose. You've been very generous already."

"It's not a problem."

There was a pause.

"You're expecting guests," Tino said flatly.

"You heard us in there?"

"Some. But it's obvious anyway. It's Christmas Eve, and you're cooking for a lot more than two people. It smells wonderful, by the way."

"Thank you," said Sweden, not sure how to react beyond that. Was Tino angling to be invited to stay for dinner? Sweden wasn't really comfortable making that offer. But on the other hand, if his stuff still wasn't dry by the time the food was ready and the other countries arrived, what else could he do? "So," he said. "Er. Were you on your way somewhere when I spotted you? Is there anyone you need to call?"

"Yes, I probably should," said Tino wistfully. "Definitely. May I use your phone?"

"Sure," said Sweden, handing over his mobile. "I'll go and get that bathrobe for you."

He was just turning to leave the room when something...weird happened. In just the split second that Tino was at the corner of his vision, it was like there was a _flicker_, and for an instant it seemed like someone else was sitting on the sofa. Sweden whipped his head back around.

"Is something wrong?" said Tino.

"No," Sweden said right away. "I just...need to clean my glasses. Or something." He turned away again, deliberately avoiding the edges of his own gaze.

He was starting to understand what Åland meant.

* * *

The other three hung well back during the chanting. You never knew in advance exactly what was going to show up when Norway started summoning fairies, and nobody wanted to be standing in the wrong place if it turned out to be a cranky troll. On this occasion, though, a few creatures like luminous, blue-white butterflies flitted down from the sky. Norway conferred with them in low tones.

"What're they saying?" Denmark asked in what he probably thought was a whisper.

"How should I know?" Iceland un-whispered back. "I can't hear them either."

"_Ssh_," said Sweden. "Let 'em talk in peace. This's important."

After a few moments, the fairies rose back up in the air, whirling around each other in a complicated dance. They briefly alighted on the roof just behind the reindeer before taking off again, leaving a shimmering helical trail in the air. Soon they were lost to sight.

"Hurry up!" Norway called, waving at the others to follow. "Before the trail fades!"

They followed the fairies at a light jog. "What're they doing?" asked Sweden.

"Fairies can sense anywhere magic was used," Norway explained. "They're retracing the reindeer's path. We're bound to find _something_."

Following the trail was trickier than it had seemed at first. They kept having to detour around buildings and other obstacles, occasionally losing sight of the glowing trace with no guarantee that they would find it again before it vanished. Iceland sent Mr. Puffin up to spot for them, and so they managed to stay on track until they got out of the residential area and had a much easier time of things. The reindeer had apparently followed the main road, and the fairy trail was straight and clear.

Sweden put on speed, loping along on his long legs. He soon spotted the fairies themselves off in the middle distance, spinning out the shimmering coils behind them. As he watched, they veered upward, into the shifting clouds. He slowed to a stop, wondering what to do next.

The others caught up soon. "Don't worry," said Norway. "I think I know what this is. Look."

The cloud cover was breaking up, revealing something shining and iridescent floating perhaps 100 meters up. From the ground it looked something like a cross between a soap bubble and the moon. Several tiny specks of light—the fairies—were orbiting it slowly.

"The hell is that thing?" said Denmark.

"I thought so," said Norway. "It's a fairy gate."

"What's that? Some kind of gate made by fairies?"

Norway side-eyed his oldest and most irritating friend. "Yes."

"Finland's somewhere on the other side?" said Sweden.

"Most likely," said Norway. "But it could lead anywhere. Fairies use these things to travel between worlds."

"I could have Mr. Puffin poke his head through and take a look around," Iceland offered.

His feathered companion, however, had other ideas. "Do I _look_ stupid? I'm not sticking my head in anything that glows! You're on your own, kid!" With that, he flew off—back toward Sweden's house, presumably.

"Useless bird!" Iceland called after him.

"It's not the end of the world," said Norway. "I can probably move the gate down to ground level."

"Good. Do it," said Sweden.

Slightly taken aback by the curtness of the demand, but understanding the urgency, Norway began the chant to manipulate the gate. His magical aura arose, glowing a soft white in the night gloom.

One at a time, seven tendrils of magical energy, each a different color of the spectrum, emerged from the overall haze of the aura and reached up toward the gate. Their tips merged into the general swirl of iridescence, and then the strands retracted, bringing the gate with them. The fairies flew off, apparently taking that as a sign that their job was done. After a few minutes, it sat at ground level. Norway released the spell and slumped to one knee, breathing hard.

"I haven't done that in some time," he confessed.

"Don't worry, Norgie, I'll have you right as rain!" said Denmark, stepping up to massage Norway's shoulders.

Norway elbowed him in the gut. "Make yourself useful, idiot. Check the gate and make sure it's safe on the other side."

Gasping, Denmark nonetheless forced a grin and a thumbs-up and wobbled over to the shimmering portal. He leaned over and poked his head through.

"What if he falls in?" said Iceland.

"We can only wish," Norway muttered.

Denmark straightened up and backed away a step or two from the fairy gate. "You guys aren't going to believe this."

"What is it?" said Sweden.

"Come on. Don't worry, it's perfectly safe."

Norway pulled himself together and the four of them walked through the gate. They looked around.

"Wait a minute," said Iceland. "This is the same place. We're still in Stockholm."

* * *

"Here you go," Sweden told his mysterious guest, handing him the promised bathrobe. "Sorry about the delay; we were turning your costume inside out so it would dry faster. Is something wrong?"

Tino was staring morosely at Sweden's phone. "I realized I don't actually have anyone's number memorized. I always just dial them off the list."

"That's not uncommon, in this day and age," Sweden said wryly. "You can try again later."

Tino began squirming around inside the electric blanket, evidently trying to put on the bathrobe without leaving the comfortable warmth or needlessly exposing himself. He managed it just as Åland reappeared from the basement.

"Blue and yellow," he remarked of the terrycloth. "You must be very patriotic."

Åland scowled. Sweden was taken aback, but he brushed it aside, thinking there must be some cultural miscommunication going on. "Why don't we—" he said, but he never finished the sentence, because at that moment, they heard a car pull up outside.

"_Perfect,_" Åland groaned.

"Your guests?" said Tino.

"Yeah," said Sweden. "Let's...um...let's..." It was a nearly unprecedented situation: He was not just lost for words, but lost for _thoughts_. He had no idea what to do next.

A cheerful chatter of voices approached the door. Someone knocked, and then said "No, wait—you live here. Go ahead" The door opened, and Sister Sweden stepped inside, stunning in her winter dress and coat.

"Hello again, brother dear!" she said. "You'll never guess who we found on the way over!"

Denmark was right behind her (an enviable position for the great majority of men). "Who wants beer? Red or green, take your pick!" Next came Norway and Iceland, the latter animatedly telling his older brother a story about what the demons at home were up to lately.

Sister Sweden noticed Tino almost right away. "Who's this? New friend?"

"Well, hi!" said Denmark. "You're pretty cute! Like to party, do you?"

"Knock it off!" Sweden barked. "Listen, nobody get too excited. He's not staying long. This is—"

And then the last member of the arriving group entered: Finland. He looked around, taking in the scene, and he and Tino made eye contact.

_Something_ passed between them—something that caused Finland to stagger back against the wall, eyes enormous. Tino, likewise, flattened himself against the sofa back, completely floored.

"_Oh,_" he breathed after a tense moment. "Oh, I see. So it's like that. Okay. Okay. I can handle this. It wouldn't be the first time something like this has happened at Christmas." He cleared his throat. "I suppose now that everyone's here, I should introduce myself properly."

"_What_," Åland muttered.

Tino took a deep breath. "Hello, everyone! Republic of Finland, at your service!"

* * *

"They're not responding," Norway said after a few moments. "Assuming there _are_ any fairies in this world, that is."

"There have to be, don't there?" said Iceland. "If they made a gate to come here?"

"Either way, we won't be able to track where the reindeer went here."

"This way," said Sweden, setting off straight ahead. "He would've been moving this direction as he came through the gate."

After a few minutes of brisk walking, they found themselves approaching the lake shore. Sweden instantly became visibly tense and broke into a run. He vaulted the safety railing and began picking his way along the water's edge, examining the shelf ice. Finally he spotted something and lunged to pull it out.

The others joined him. "What? What did you find?" said Denmark.

Sweden turned slowly, holding up a bedraggled object. It was a Santa Claus hat.

"Aw, shit," said Denmark. "Wait...no...that could be anyone's! They sell them all over the place, this time of year!"

"But this couldn't," said Norway from a little further along the shore, dragging a piece of debris up from the water: a large piece of splintered wood, lacquered a glossy red and with a steel runner attached.

"Aw, _shit_," said Denmark again.

"Keep searching," Sweden said in a leaden voice.

As if they needed more confirmation of the wreckage's identity, a few minutes later they came across the sack of gifts, half-floating and snagged on a projection of ice. They used the sleigh runner to hook it and drag it in.

"What a shame," said Iceland. "All those presents, ruined."

"Maybe not," said Norway. "The drawstring is closed. The gifts could still be protected by the magic. Best not to mess with it, just in case." He slung it over his back.

"Should we call for him?" said Denmark. "I mean, maybe he's nearby. He could be okay, right?"

"Hey, look at this!" said Iceland, who had wandered ahead a ways. "I think I found a trail!"

It wasn't exactly footprints. It started with a soggy, flattened area of snow such as might come into existence if a soaking wet body had lain at the water's edge for a few moments. That tapered off into a continuous, meandering trampled line with the occasional clear boot print, only partially obscured by the snow that had fallen since it was made.

"He was moving under his own power," Norway noted. "That's a good sign."

They followed the trail back up to street level. There was another flattened patch just on the other side of the railing, as if Finland had climbed it but the effort had taken a lot out of him and he had to rest for a while. Then the tracks continued as they had before.

A few city blocks later, things became a bit confused. It seemed that Finland had doubled back before veering off in another direction, and now...he had company. Another set of footprints, close beside those of the missing nation.

Denmark blew a low whistle. "This is either very good...or _really_ bad. And frankly, I'm leaning toward bad."

"How come?" said Sweden. "Someone was helping him."

"Or _kidnapping_ him. They just took off that way instead of going back to look for the sleigh and stuff? Doesn't sound very helpful to me."

"No signs of a struggle," Sweden pointed out.

"That doesn't mean anything. Look at those tracks—our Finny could barely walk. Even if he wanted to, how much of a fight could he put up in that condition? We should prepare for the worst." He unshouldered his ax and let the blade strike the ground with a _clang_ that raised a few sparks despite the thin blanket of snow. The others jumped; they hadn't even realized he was carrying the thing. They were so used to him hauling it around everywhere and not doing anything with it that they rarely noticed it anymore.

"So," Denmark concluded, "who's up for storming a castle?"

Maybe the chill in the air was combining with the tense situation to put them all in the mood to relive the old days, but something about the way he said it made it sound like a _really_ good idea.

* * *

There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence. It was, oddly enough, Iceland who said what everyone was thinking. "Sorry, _what_?"

"I see what happened now," Tino—or the Republic of Finland—said, more to himself than to anyone else in the room. "I've crossed over into a parallel dimension. That glowing thing I ran into in the sky must have been the portal between them." He looked up suddenly. "Does this world have a Santa Claus?"

"Yes..." said Sweden. "Why?"

"Because in my world, _I'm_ Santa Claus. But if the Finland here doesn't perform the same role—and it looks like you don't, no offense—then that would be why the sleigh's magic failed and I crashed. With your Santa already out making his rounds, this dimension didn't recognize my Christmas magic and it stopped working."

"Hold on, back up a second," said Åland. "Are you saying that _you_ are an alternate-universe version of _Finland_? That guy over there, with the suspicious bottle that must be just about empty by now?" Finland had been taking regular swigs of his rotgut ever since locking eyes with the visitor. Apparently it had been a rattling experience.

"Well...yes," said Tino. "We recognized each other right away. Didn't we, sir? In a manner of speaking, we _are_ each other."

"Finland? Is he telling the truth?" said Sweden.

Finland nodded urgently, still wide-eyed, and made a series of emphatic gestures.

"I completely agree,"said Tino. "It _was_ like looking into a mirror and realizing that the mirror was looking back."

"Cool," said Denmark. "A science-fiction Christmas. Should I open the beer or what?"

"You must be this world's Denmark," said Tino with a knowing smile.

Denmark started. "Is it that obvious?"

"Well...you do have the Danish flag on your shirt. But I think I would have guessed even without it. The Denmark I know is much the same—whatever's going on, he wants some booze!"

"Okay, that's just creepy," said Denmark.

"But he's much taller than you. Actually, most of you look pretty different from the ones I'm familiar with. If you weren't wearing those flag designs, I'd have a much harder time of things. You and I are obviously _nothing_ alike, Other Finland. And let's see...you would be the Åland Islands? They don't even have their own personification where I'm from. That we we know of, anyway. And...Miss?"

"If you're addressing me, it's _Mistress_," said Sister Sweden impishly. "I don't let my Finland speak to me in such familiar tones, and I expect the same deference from you...cutie-pie."

Tino cringed under the weight of her haughty, sexy stare. "Um...maybe we'll just let it go for now."

Sweden shook his head. "I'm sorry, this is still a bit much. Are you seriously telling us you're a visitor from another dimension? Where you're Finland?"

"I suppose it does sound far-fetched, but it's the honest truth! And it's not even the first time we made contact with a parallel dimension on Christmas. Something about this time of year must weaken the barriers between dimensions or something. But now that I've figured that out, I'm not worried."

"I think I'd be worried if I were stuck in a parallel dimension, away from all my friends," Norway mused.

"But I'm not really, am I?" said Tino. "You guys are kind of like my friends. You're not the same people, but you have the same...essence. I feel very safe now. And once my actual friends realize what happened, they're sure to come get me. I wouldn't be surprised if they show up any minute."

Of such statements is dramatic timing made. Or comic timing. Whichever.

A sound almost like a gunshot ripped through the house as something hard and powerful struck the front door. "What the hell?" said Sweden, hurrying to check it out. He reached the door just as the second strike occurred and a gleaming blade drove several centimeters through the wood, stopping within a finger's width of his nose. With a squeak of fright, he fell backward to the floor and skittered away, crab-walking back toward the safety of the living room as a third blow came and the door _exploded_ inward, tearing free of its hinges under the force of a booted foot.

"Ho, ho, _ho,_" growled the imposing figure who stepped through. "Someone's been naughty, haven't they?" He was dressed partly in red, but mostly in black, and his hair stood up from his head like the horns of the Devil himself. Fittingly, all hell broke loose as he and three others charged through the now open doorway and launched an all-out assault on the gathering.

It would be futile to attempt to describe the ensuing chaos in any detail, not least because most of the names involved would apply to two of the people in the room. Tino shouted protests which were roundly ignored, Åland lunged for the fireplace and grabbed the poker as an improvised weapon (in a fit, perhaps, of merciful holiday spirit, he _didn't_ thrust it into the embers first), and Sister Sweden tackled the closest of the attackers and gave him a faceful of cleavage—which, in her experience, was usually enough to paralyze even the toughest of foes. That was about it as far as reasoned response went. The rest of the partygoers were in something close to panic.

What prevented the rescue-cum-battle from turning into an outright slaughter was, of all things, the kitchen timer. At the sound of that rhythmic chime, Sweden—the one who owned the house—suddenly snapped from Flustered Attackee to Dinner Party Maestro, stood up straight, and began striding to the kitchen, right through the surrounding tumult.

"Not so fast," rumbled a deep voice. A heavy hand landed on Sweden's shoulder and spun him around. He found himself looking right at the chin of the _other_ Sweden. The guy was that big.

"Ex-_cuse_ me!" he snapped, raising his head to look the other in the eye. "I'm trying to—" And then they made the connection. "Oh my god," Sweden (again, the homeowner) whispered, which is quite an oath for an atheist to utter. "It's really true. So you're just here for...Tino? Finland? Whatever?"

The other Sweden nodded, blinking rapidly and vaguely wondering if this unsettled feeling was what it was like for other people _all the time_, whenever they made eye contact with him.

"And it didn't occur to you to try simply _asking_ about him?"

The big man made a sigh that sounded like a growl and muttered "Denmark."

"Ah. Say no more." There was a pained yell as Åland landed a blow on someone with the poker. "Crap...we have to stop this!"

"_Ja._ Leave it to me."

He made a quick circuit of the room, pulling his fellow invaders away from whomever they were fighting, menacing, or maybe just pursuing. His counterpart likewise collected his own group. Actually, it wasn't that simple. It was more of a disentangling process, with skirmishes instead of string. But before too long, all the tussles were broken up and the two parties were gathered on opposite sides of the living room.

Mostly.

While Sweden suddenly remembered his cooking and ducked into the kitchen to extract the roast from the oven before it burned, Tino tallied up his friends. "One, two three...where's Iceland?" He turned out to be the one being subjected—or treated—to Sister Sweden's attentions. She relented easily enough now that the household was no longer under assault.

"It's a marshmallow world in the winter..." the boy sang rather indistinctly as he was returned to the custody of his own allies. "Guess what, you guys...I'm probably not gay."

"Hussy," said his elder brother, this being directed at Sister Sweden. "He's only a kid."

"Okay," said Sweden, emerging from the kitchen. "The roast is fine." He paused. "I wish I could say the same for my front door..."

"Yeah...sorry about that," said the ax-wielding Denmark, trying to make said ax appear small and inconsequential. "Do you have a tarp or something you can put up until you can get it replaced, just to keep all the heat from escaping?"

"Actually, I have a spare door in the garage. Sweetie, let's get on that while the roast cools, and then we can all eat."

"And who exactly did you mean by _all_?" said Åland.

Sweden took in the sight of the five surprise visitors, hugging and exulting in the fact that all of them were all right, especially the one currently wearing his spare bathrobe. "Hmm..." he said.

"You _know_...sweetie," said Åland, absent-mindedly twirling the poker in his hand, "you do always make too much food."

"What do the rest of you think? Should we invite them to stay?"

"I'm game," said Denmark. "As long as we're sure they're not going to attack us again. And as long as I don't have to sit across from the big guy. Not the one with the ax, the other one. _Holy Martin Luther_, is he scary!"

"They're...our counterparts, aren't they?" said Norway. "The alternate versions of us, from Tino's universe."

"Yeah," said Sweden.

"_Can_ they stay?" said Iceland. "Doesn't he have to get back to his world and be Santa?"

"Right," said Sweden, snapping his fingers. "His suit must be dry by now."

"I'll get it," said Åland, strolling off.

"We might as well make the offer, anyway," said Denmark. "They can always say no."

"We'll do it as a group," said Sweden. "Just don't be alarmed at what happens when you come face-to-face with your own doppelganger."

They crossed the room to extend the invitation. And sure enough, as the conversation ensued, the three remaining nation-pairs got to experience that moment of perfect familiarity combined with existential uncertainty in one unnerving yet thrilling package.

"You've spent the most time around them, Finland," said the other Sweden. "What do you think?"

"I think it would be lovely..." he said, but turned his notice to Åland, who was just returning with the Santa suit in hand, "...but...what about my rounds back home?"

"I think it's a moot point," said Norway (the one with...look, just figure it out through context). "We found the wreckage of the sleigh. It was in pieces. It would take more magic than I have to put it back together tonight. I saved the sack, at least. We should get going before the fairy gate closes, or we'll be in real trouble."

"But what about all the little children?" Tino wailed. "I have to do _something_ for them! It's my job!"

"Not when you're not wearing this, it isn't," said Denmark (the tall one), holding out the still-soggy hat. "We should accept the invitation. Who can think on an empty stomach anyway?"

"I like the way you think!" said the other Denmark. "At the very least, we should pass around the beers!"

"I like the way _you_ think!"

The two Denmarks moved to the sofa to get started on the festive holiday lagers.

"It looks like the decision's been made for you," said Sweden (the host). "You might as well make the most of it."

So they did. Tino changed back into his red suit, and the Sweden siblings set a land speed record in clearing the table, expanding it with the extra leaves, and re-laying it with five more place settings. Åland and the other Sweden cleaned up the remains of the broken door and hung the spare one. Finland (the non-Santa one) wandered over to the sofa to share in the beer while there was still some left, because the Denmarks were busily trying to outdo each other in the drinking department. And the more level-headed members of both groups filled each other in on what, exactly, had happened that evening.

By and by, dinner was ready to be served. "Hold on," said Tino. "_Now_ where's Iceland? Yours too! They're both missing!"

They turned up in the spare bedroom. Making out.

"What?" said the one in the brown suit. "I didn't say I was straight! I only said I probably wasn't gay!"

"Iceland, you _dog_!" said the short Denmark.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," was the blissful reply.

"I'll thank you not to corrupt my little brother," said the Norway with the hair clip, pulling his Iceland away. "I don't know what to call that, but it can't be morally upright."

"Never mind," said the Sweden with the gla—the one who could usually look people in the eye _without_ freaking them out. "Let's eat!"

The food was delicious. But the real attraction was the conversation. How often does _anyone_ get the chance to see how they might have turned out if things had been different? Such is the fascination of the parallel universe—the comparing of notes, the discovery of a person who is uniquely suited to understand you and give you insight into the mysteries of your own life...because they _are_ you, but with a twist. And of course you can do the same for them. No wonder the Icelands had wandered off to snog.

* * *

It was later. The nations—of both universes—had thoroughly enjoyed their meal and were now back at the lake shore, regarding the detritus of Santa's sleigh.

"I hate to say it," said Sister Sweden, "but that looks pretty hopeless."

"Maybe not," said Tino, crouching to lay a hand on the pile of splintered wood and metal. "I'm feeling something..." He stood up suddenly and whirled to face the others. "Quick! Give me my hat!"

"Okay, but it's still damp," said Denmark, passing over the article.

"Not for long," said Tino just before he plunked the hat onto his head and became Santa Claus once more. "_Yes!_ There's definitely enough here! You guys from this universe are lifesavers!"

"Wha—I don't get it," said Denmark (the little one).

Santa's hands were glowing as he raised them over his head. A shit-eating grin grew on his face while shining motes flew from his fingers toward the scrap heap, coating the fragments in radiance. In the next moment, they lifted into the air and the sleigh reassembled itself. Ragged wooden edges meshed and knitted, missing screws were drawn magnetically out of the water and spun back into their proper places, the devices that turned it from an ordinary sleigh to a magical conveyance were restored. Even the sack of gifts settled into its proper place.

"How did you _do_ that?" said Åland. "I thought you said this world didn't recognize your Christmas magic!"

"It doesn't," said Santa. "But it recognizes _yours_. Don't you see? You helped a stranger in need, you forgave people who wronged you, and you were generous and shared a meal with people you just met. Christmas magic doesn't get much purer than that! Now come on, guys, get in! I have just enough left over to take us home!"

They began boarding.

"So you're leaving?" said Iceland (the one wearing goggles). "Just like that?"

"Looks like it," said the non-native Sweden.

"We have to," said Santa. "I've got a big job to do and I've lost a lot of time already!"

"I had a really nice time!" the corresponding Denmark said a bit indistinctly, swaying in his seat. "Next year, you come visit us, what do you say?"

"Of course!" the other Sweden said with fake chipperness. "Crossing dimensions for the holidays! Piece of cake!"

"Well, why not?" said Santa. "I did it and I wasn't even trying!" Fully loaded, the sleigh trembled and began to rise.

"Remember what I said!" Norway called down to his counterpart. "Stop indulging him so much!"

"Remember what _I_ said!" was the cheerful retort. "It wouldn't kill you to throw him a bone once in a while!"

"Ho, ho, ho!" Santa bellowed into the night. "May all your Christmas wishes come true!"

The sleigh gained altitude until it was a little patch in the sky before wheeling about and flying off properly. Just before it vanished in a flash of light, seven things like miniature comets streaked to earth, landing at the feet of each nation on the ground.

They were wrapped gifts.

"Wow," said Denmark. "If there was any doubt left that he's Santa Claus, I think that took care of it."

"I'm really going to miss that guy..." Iceland said wistfully.

"It really makes you think, doesn't it?" said Sweden. "About the universe, and our part in it? There's so much we could _learn_ from this if we analyzed it!"

"Sweetie," said Åland. "Calm down. I know it's exciting, but I think we could do with a little peace on earth by now. I'm just glad I don't have to witness another Finn wearing your bathrobe anymore."

"Let's head back," said Sister Sweden. "We haven't gotten around to doing presents yet, and now we've got a few more."

"What do you think he gave us?" said Norway as the group began walking back toward Sweden's place.

* * *

The sleigh made a beautiful landing on Sweden's rooftop, in exactly the right place to re-fasten the reindeer's harness.

"All right, everyone out!" said Santa. "I've got to hurry and I can't have any extra weight on board!"

"How are we supposed to get down?" said Iceland as they scrambled out.

"I left out the ladder over there when I was hanging lights," said Sweden.

"Here you go, guys!" said Santa, tossing them a few packages from the sack. "I hope you don't mind me skipping your houses, since you're all here anyway! I can shave off some time this way! Make sure Sealand gets his too! 'Bye!" He snapped the reins and took off.

"Well, that was...abrupt," said Norway. "I can't say I blame him, though. Denmark, stop shaking the box! You can open it as soon as we get inside! Try not to kill yourself on the ladder, you drunk idiot."

"Won't this be a great story to tell in the next World Meeting?" said Denmark as they started down. "Do you think anyone will believe us?"

Hardly had they reached the ground before a taxi pulled up in front of the house. An extremely animated figure jumped out, throwing money at the driver, and ran up to them. It was America.

"_Dude_, Sweden! I told you to leave a runway open for me! I had to wait for clearance and then go through Customs like a loser! This is no way to treat a hero who's trying to save Christmas for everyone!"

"It's already saved," Sweden said flatly.

"_J__á_, we found Santa and brought him back," said Iceland. "See? He gave us these gifts."

"_No way!_" America said. "How'd you manage that without a hero to lead you? Are you sure it wasn't an impostor you found?"

"Pretty sure," said Sweden. "Have a good night." He turned to head inside.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going? I wasn't done talking yet!"

"Chill out, man," said Denmark. "Nobody wants to be upset on a night like tonight. You should get home and see what Santa brings you."

America watched sullenly as the weary Nordics trooped away and disappeared into Sweden's house. "I came all this way for nothing," he complained to no one. His phone rang. He answered it in a sighing tone. "Y'ello?"

"You wanker," said England's voice. "Father Christmas just popped back up on the tracker. I told you it was probably a transmission glitch. You're far too excitable, you know? Now get your arse over to my place for cocoa and gift exchange before I come find you and drag you by your ear!"

"Okay, okay, calm down," America said, and hung up. "Family. Go figure."

* * *

_Thus ends our holiday tale. May this Christmas, and every Christmas, be a merry one for you. And should you find yourself falling through a fairy gate into an alternate universe...make sure to find yourself before you go home. You'll know who you are._

The End


End file.
